Too late, she was already thirteen pages into the book she'd picked up from the shelf when she heard her voice called. With a momentary pout, she lifted her left hand to tuck a strand behind her pointed ear. It likely wasn't hard to notice the so-green-it-nearly-glowed markings seared into her skin, but she seemed to not even notice it at this point. Instead, she seemed to switch from her fascination with the particular work to the one who addressed her; face as serene as could be for one wwell-versed in politics.

"A pleasure, Mr. Valentine." She greeted him, her voice kept low as if she'd taken an unseen cue from Ophelia. Lowering her hand, she glanced to Ophelia. It had been her idea to come here after all.